Nox
by SheegothBait
Summary: Following his deal with the Devil herself, Angor flees as far as he can. But, although he tries to hide from his fate, he can't escape the Inferna Copula's bond, and he must come to terms with the fact that he has become the very monster he sought to destroy. Angor Rot, Lady Pale, and a few other OCs
1. Broken Solitude

"I can't slow down, I can't hold back  
Though you know, I wish I could  
Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked

Until we close our eyes for good."-Cage the Elephant, _No Rest for the Wicked_

 _VvVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV_

 _KILL THE TROLLHUNTER. THE POWER OF THE RING COMPELS YOU. KILL THE POWER OF THE RING COMPELS YOU. KILL THE-_

Angor woke with a gasp, clutching at his chest, the Pale Lady's words still echoing in his head. His chest seared with cold so fierce and deep that it burned like acid or fire. Two months, maybe more, had passed since the Faustian bargain, but when the dreams came upon, the pain of having his soul forcibly torn from his body returned. Every time he tried to rest, it was the same; nightmares of Baba Yaga calling out to him in that earth-shattering voice, and then pain so awful it caused him to wake, tearing at his very living stone.

He slipped from his bed and broke the skin of ice capping the water basin. The cold water numbed his face, but it woke him from the remnants of the dreams. He straightened in the chill air and glanced to the windows. A bitter wind rustled the tattered curtains, but he heard nothing else creeping beyond his hut. He retrieved his weathered, trusty dagger and tucked it into his belt, and crossed to the table, where an open book rested. He glanced down at it, murmuring the words inked carefully onto the crackling pages once more, though the incantation had already burnt itself into his brain long ago. If he could only get the spell to work…

His magic had not resurfaced since the deal, and though he'd been studying every spell-book he could get his hands on, the thread of arcane power still remained elusive. Frustration flared, burning as sharply as poison in a wound, and for a fraction of a moment he considered dashing the book from the table. He let out a slow breath and turned to the coals smoldering on the hearth. At first, he hadn't been sure, being the soul-less, half-dead _abomination_ he now was, that he could get cold, but fleeing north to escape the Gumm-Gumm hordes had proven, without a doubt, that he was still susceptible to the flaws of mortal stone.

 _What was the point in leaving my mortality intact if_ she _wanted someone to kill the Trollhunters,_ he thought, sourly tossing kindling onto the dull red embers. He blew on the coals gently, making them flare orange. _They're called_ Trollhunters _for a reason_. A small tongue of flame lapped at the fuel, then flickered out again. _I may be skilled at fighting, but I'm no Gumm-Gumm. What chance do I have against the Trollhunters if this…magic…does not work?_ He blew on the fire again, which tentatively, then with more vigor, crackled to life. He shuddered as the wind bit his fingers, then located his fur cloak and swung it around his shoulders. The pelt was from a huge, hairy mammal much larger than he, with fur as white as snow and claws long and sharp enough to tear living stone asunder. He'd managed to kill the beast, but not without acquiring some injuries of his own; the creature had taken a sizeable chunk out of his shoulder. The injury would likely take years to heal and scar terribly.

He located the packet of fish he'd smoked several nights ago and ate, sitting in front of the gently flickering fire, whose heat did little to dispel his black mood. _What do I do now?_ After his initial flight from the sorceress's dreaded cave, he'd fled north, not returning to his village. He'd run in terror of Argante at first, then from the Gumm-Gumm hordes as they spread across the land, killing indiscriminately. At this point, he would likely be thought of by "his people" as either dead or a traitor. There was no point going back.

 _Well, then what,_ he asked himself, spreading his frozen hands in front of the flames. Staying here was not an option; food here was scarce, and the cold only worsened as the days shortened. This harsh land could not sustain the Gumm-Gumm hordes, which made it momentarily safe, but neither could it sustain him for long. He gazed into the flames blankly. _Where do I go? What should I do?_ The fire snapped and crackled and spat. He straightened suddenly. Maybe he was losing his mind, but the noises almost strung together…coherently.

He leaned closer, ignoring the scorching heat. "Lady Pale?" He half-whispered into the flames.

 _You shirk your duties, hunter,_ the fire seemed to snap at him. _You are of old stone, yet you hide like new-stone, afraid of the shadows._

He looked down at the floor, his hands curling into fists, his ire rising like the lunar tide, slow but unstoppable. It wasn't enough, apparently, that he was stewing in his own guilt; even his hallucinations had to drive home his cowardice. "This magic does not obey me. It has failed to protect my people, and now it is failing me. The pact I made with you is _worthless_ to me," he spat.

He half-expected to get no response at all, but one came anyway.

 _Your magic is not useless,_ the flames crackled. _It is dormant. You are not fulfilling your end of the pact, so it will remain dormant until you do._

He scoffed. "Hunt the Trollhunters? That is madness. I am no warrior."

 _No,_ the fire-voice argued, _you are much more than that._

He laughed bitterly. "How? Why didn't you choose another?"

The fire's light softened, its crackle lessening to soft hisses and pops. _These…Gumm-Gumms… are but brutes with little skill. They smash their way through obstacles with reckless abandon; they do not plan or calculate their actions. They do not study a foe as you, my hunter, do._ The fire flared golden _. You fought a beast many times your size and succeeded in killing it. You have the skill and cunning necessary to track and analyze the Trollhunters, a skill the brutes do not possess. Apply the same skills in studying your enemies, and you will succeed._ A wave of warmth washed out from the fire, chasing away the chill. _You have the knowledge necessary to tap your sorcery. Use it; it will become your greatest weapon._

He shook his head. "This is folly. Every troll knows that Merlin's amulet does not simply choose _any_ troll, and it does not make mistakes."

The fire flared blazing hot; he yelled and scrambled back. _Do not forget your duty to me, hunter. Either you will hunt the Trollhunters, or you will die here and I will find another._

With that, the fire went out, as though he'd thrown a bucket of water onto the flames. He looked at his hands; they'd been blackened in the sudden heat wave, but already the pain was fading, the deadly chill creeping in to numb the burns. He reached forward, wondering if he could still get the fire going, but the stones lining the ash pile felt totally cold to the touch, the ash itself as dead-white as his skin.

He clenched his fists and got to his feet. _Accursed sorcery._ More and more he was wishing he had never heard about the legends of The Lady Pale. But he was bound to her now, for however long it took him to satisfy her enough to release him. And he had little doubt now that the dreams would just keep coming until he heeded them or died out here.

He shouldered his cloak, wrapping it tightly around himself, and began to pack the essentials in the semi-dark of the hut. His fingers lingered on the aged book, the only thing besides the dagger that had survived his trek across the countryside to this once-abandoned hut. He turned a few pages. The text was nearly impossible to translate; he'd had to run each individual line through four different dialects of progressively older Trollish in order to get it halfway coherent, and the meaning still frequently eluded him. He'd found it in the wreckage of a sorcerer's house, and something about it had made him pick it up. _No,_ he realized, _not something_. Magic again. Baba Yaga was clearly still watching and appraising him, nudging his actions with arcane suggestion.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He snarled at the windows. "I can barely read it, let alone use it!"

The wind simply moaned outside, giving no coherent answer. He resignedly tucked the book into his pack and slung the small load across his back. He picked up his forked walking stick, set his shoulders and his teeth, and stepped into the shifting wild of the bitter, uncertain tundra.

 **A/N: Originally thought this out to be a one-shot, but it may turn into something more if you like it.**

 **Continue? Y/N**


	2. Cold-Forged

**Chapter warnings: Violence against animals and some blood.**

Wind-bent, ice-crowned pines gave way to tall, gnarled trees that stretched towards the sky like mighty monuments, their pale bark glowing softly in the moonlight. The snow fields had thinned a little, but the increased heat farther south had softened the snow, turning it from a frozen rock-hard surface to a treacherous mire of uneven drifts that left him floundering and cursing. Struggling through the snow left him weary, hungry, and vulnerable to predators prowling the night. He hadn't been attacked yet, but it was only a matter of time before the denizens of the frozen north scented his weakness.

Exhaustion dragged at his feet, and he stumbled over a hidden branch beneath the snow. How long had he been walking? Days? Weeks? He couldn't retrace his steps; Gunmar's hordes had ransacked the land to the south, forcing him northwards again to escape detection. The path he'd taken had been forged by animals, also escaping the troll-hordes, taking him far, far around Gunmar's troops…and keeping him far, far away from civilization. Only recently had the animal signs trended southward, meaning it was finally safe to return to warmer climates.

He mused on this. He'd slept little, making his home in the shadows of shallow caves where possible. The land he now traversed, however, was flat, with only the shadow of his spread cloak propped on sticks to protect him from the burning, deadly gaze of the sun. With no natural protection, he'd only stopped to hunt, taking whatever meat he could find raw out of necessity. No more convenient abandoned locations he could shelter in, as he had the hut in the far north, presented themselves, even after interminable hiking. Building a fire would do far more towards putting him in danger from various predators, beast and trollkind alike, than protecting him _from_ danger. He clutched at his staff and kept moving, leaning heavily on the gnarled wood. Lying down in the snow meant death, either from predators or the cold. So he kept moving, doggedly, painstakingly, but with ever-draining resolve. He _had_ to stop and rest.

He stumbled again, found himself face-first in the snow before he could regain his balance. Wearily, he picked himself up and brushed off the cold, wet clods of snow clinging to his front. He blinked heavy eyelids; the forest seemed to swim before his eyes, and he swayed on numb legs. He tottered forward a few steps, collapsed, and tried to rise. His arms wouldn't obey his command to lift him from the snow, however, though he struggled to lever himself upright. Resigned, he rested his head in the feather-soft snow; it conformed to his heavy body, supporting his weight much better than any mattress he remembered. _This is how I die,_ he thought distantly. _I will fall asleep in the snow; the sun will rise, and it will be over._ He turned the thought over and over in his head, but he wasn't bothered by it. _I can't go on like this._ He closed his eyes, just for a moment…

And opened them to find himself facedown on familiar, foreboding rocky shores, in front of a great cave that yawned open, its inside as black as a starless night. He glanced up at the cave, registered it, and laid his head back down on the stone, exhaustion pinning him in place. The wet, cold rock smelled of salt and dug into his cheekbone, but he barely noticed.

"Why do you sleep, hunter? You have work ahead of you," a familiar voice crooned.

"I can't do this," he mumbled to the stone, his eyes closed. "I have to rest."

Baba Yaga cackled, the sound mocking. "Ah, the weaknesses of mortal flesh. Such a difficult thing to deal with."

"Then…take it from me. If it makes me weak, take it," he pleaded.

"Oh, but to do that would soften you. The ability to perceive danger to you keeps you alert and fearful. Without it, you become like Gunmar's horde: lazy, careless, slow. No, my little assassin; for now, you remain as you are."

He closed his eyes again, inevitability washing over him.

"But perhaps I can give you _this_ ," Argante mused at length. Her fingers touched his shoulder, the contact colder than the wet stone beneath him, cold as death. But her touch sparked heat within him right where he felt his soul should be, a fire that built and spread into a blazing warmth, chasing the cold, the _weariness_ from his limbs. He opened his eyes and found himself once more facedown in the snow, but instead of cold, he felt warm, almost burning with heat. He picked himself up and realized he was not alone.

Many yellow eyes peered at him between the trees, the animals' white-grey coats blending with the silvery moon-shadows on the snow. He counted six wolves in total; they had encircled him while he lay prone, but they hesitated to attack just yet, studying him. He snatched his staff from the snow and unsheathed his dagger, tensing. The creatures pinned their ears back, baring their teeth in an audible snarl at this sudden movement. For a moment more, predator and prey were frozen, watching each other.

The first wolf flung itself at him, jumping at his throat. He ducked, and it collided with its brother with a yelp. Another made a jump at him; he struck out with his staff, catching the beast in its gut. It, too, went down with a pained yelp. A third wolf charged him; he rolled forward under the animal as it flew at him, stabbing out at the one that had simultaneously leapt at his back. The beast shrieked in pain as the dagger hit flesh, embedding with a soft _thump_. It scrambled away, snarling and limping, taking his dagger with it. He realized in a split second of terror that he could not hold off all five animals with just his staff. A second later, he was flat on his back in the snow, pressing his walking stick into the wolf's throat to keep it off him, the animal's teeth so close to his living stone he could feel its breath on his neck.

He threw the beast off him, snarling as teeth pierced his arm. He struck out at it with his staff, and the creature fell away yelping, its fur smoldering. _Fire?_ Bewildered but unable to take his mind off the fight, he roared at the wolves. They skittered back, still snarling, and he leapt to his feet, gripping his staff at the ready. Purple, smoking light danced across his arm like fire, but it did not burn him or his staff. _Magic._

One of the wolves inched closer; he whirled on it, the magic nudging him to thrust out a hand. A purple-and-black fireball exploded from his outstretched palm and hit the animal dead center, flinging it across the snow. It howled in pain and floundered in the snow, trying to extinguish its burning fur. Twice more the wolf-pack repeated their advances, and twice more he deterred them with arcane fire before they lost interest and ran away through the forest, yelping and smoking. He watched them go, then dropped his gaze to study the violet flames. They flickered along his arms a moment more, then dispersed, leaving both his furs and his staff unharmed.

He took a moment to steady himself, breathing in the smoke-and-blood scents of post-battle. A faint whimpering caught his attention, and he focused on the noise. The wolf he'd stabbed was lying just outside the battle-scarred snow at the base of a tree, staining the drift around it red. He approached warily. It struggled to get up, pinning it ears back and snarling. Each movement the wolf made caused the dagger to twist a little, exacerbating the damage. He knew it wasn't going anywhere; its abdominally-located vitals had been torn apart by the dagger. At this point, it was only a matter of time.

He crouched, careful to stay out of range of its teeth, and looked into its eyes. Though it had merely simple animal emotions, he could tell it was suffering. It was angry, it was hungry, it was in pain, but above all, it was afraid. It recognized him as a predator, and without the protection of its pack, it was nothing more than a meal for another animal. He had the option of just taking his dagger, but he couldn't leave it like this. Like all hunters in his tribe, had a duty to the suffering animal to finish what he'd started.

"Well fought, brother," he murmured, removing the dagger with a swift jerk and bringing it down in a fatal stroke. The animal went limp, life fleeing its body, its suffering ended.

"And may your soul find rest." He finished the hunter's eulogy and ran his fingers once through the blood-stained hair, then stood. He stepped away from the body, giving it a final glance. _To think I would envy the dead_.

He let out a weary sigh and took his first steps southwards, away from the battle. Soon he would be hunting far more dangerous game…

 **A/N: Well, I usually don't publish two chapters in a row so quickly. Hope this stands up to your standards.**

 **Also, as a fun fact: the title of this story is the counter-spell to Lumos from _Harry Potter._ Seemed appropriate. **

**Cheers to all my reviewers so far. You're awesome.**


	3. Trades, Pt 1

The cool, damp breeze shifted the changing leaves, sending the rain slanting across the mouth of the shallow cave. Angor glowered at the cloudy skies; it almost felt too cold to rain, and each night the plummeting temperatures spun icy filigree along the edges of the puddles. He could survive much more easily here than in the bitter north, but it still wasn't a pleasant ordeal without the protection of underground tunnels or other structures.

He'd been squatting in this empty cave for the past few days, recovering after his grueling, almost-lethal trek through the far north. This land had plenty of waterfowl to hunt, but even the taste of roasted meat had a limited impact in improving his mood. Baba Yaga had not bothered him during his reprieve, but it was only a matter of time before she intervened again and spurred him after the Trollhunter. He supposed he owed her double now, once for the errant magic that flared and retreated at uncontrollable intervals and again for her intervention during his near-death experience. He snorted. The idea of owing her for _anything_ felt obscene to him; he'd only asked for one of the two favors, and he couldn't even control _that_.

He scowled, focusing on his anger. Sometimes the magic manifested when he did this, if he was lucky. Today, apparently, was a lucky day, because violet fire began to flicker along his arms, the flames much smaller than their initial appearance. He thrust out a hand experimentally, as he had done in his fight against the wolves. His palm smoked like a sputtering candle, but nothing else happened. He growled and cast a glare at his cooking-fire, crackling merrily. Was _she_ watching from the flames?

The fire hissed and stuttered, as though amused by his withering stare.

"I know you're watching," he snapped at the burning logs.

The fire did not respond, and it took him a second to realize what he was doing. He gave his head a shake and let his gaze wander aimlessly over the shadows cast by the flickering flames. He was getting paranoid. She couldn't be watching him _all_ the time _._

 _I_ am _always watching, little hunter,_ a voice purred.

He sat bolt upright.

 _It is one of the powers your soul-ring, the Inferna Copula, gives me._

He snarled in disgust. "I came to you, sacrificed _myself_ , for my people. And for what? Magic I cannot control and intervention I did not ask for?"

Something invisible struck him across the face like a fist-sized rock, snapping his head to one side. _Do not forget your position, fool. I am far more powerful than you will ever hope to be._

He rotated his jaw, blinking back stars. He had no idea she was capable of punishing him like that. "If I am so weak, why keep me at all?" he challenged. "Why not let me die in that forest?"

Cold, soft, laughter filled the cave and his ears, chilling him more effectively than the frigid rain. _Did you forget you were bound to me, hunter? Letting you die would be a waste of a servant._

He shuddered, horror clawing at him. How binding _was_ this contract?

 _Fear not,_ Argante told him softly. A gust of wind brushed his face like a soothing touch, cold but gentle. _As you prove yourself, I will grant you greater freedoms._

"When will you return my soul? There is a void…" He put a hand to his chest. _Void_ was not the right word. It felt more like he'd been hollowed out, as if a thin layer living stone was the only thing left of him, as if even that might shatter at the slightest breeze into nothing.

 _When I am satisfied,_ she responded simply.

He glowered at the flames.

 _Come, come, little hunter_ , she crooned. _Be not dour about your contract. In time you will learn to enjoy the hunt._

He glanced at the fire moodily, doubt dampening this twisted promise. Only a _monster_ enjoyed hunting one's own kind.

"Be that as it may," he responded. "Your magic still does not obey me."

 _You are yet new to magic. As you grow more experienced, it will obey. There is one nearby who might help you. Tonight, you will go and begin your studies in the arcane._

He eyed the rain and the ever-darkening sky gloomily. He didn't think it would let up by nightfall, and he did not relish the thought of walking in this rain. But if he did not go, he knew that Argante would not leave him alone.

He got to his feet, collected his staff, and made sure his book was protected against the rain, then stood just inside the cave entrance, waiting for the gray daylight to fade.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

A sharp knock on her door spurred Lybran to her feet. Sure, it might be night, but the night was still very young and the weather was poor, so she hadn't thought anyone would really be out and about yet.

The individual knocked again, pounding more insistently. She snatched a candle from the table and ran to the door, opening it cautiously. Captain Kaius and a small group of other guards clustered around her door, and in their midst stood another troll, draped in a heavy white fur that looked totally soaked. His slim, athletic body belied youth, but the cracks around his eyes and the deep scarring in his stone told her he was far older than he first appeared. Kaius clutched a gaggletack by his side, eyeing the stranger with suspicion as he spoke.

"M'Lady, we found this intruder wandering up the main road. No one claims to recognize him, so we figured he might be a changeling spy."

She peered at the stranger suspiciously, studying him. He peered back, and she got the oddest impression _he_ was studying _her_.

"These are his." Kaius tucked the magic item back into his belt and produced a walking stick and a bone-handled knife, sheathed in dark leather. The stranger scowled at the captain, his golden eyes narrowing to slits. He might be cooperating for now, but he was _not_ happy about it. She put her candle down and took the weapons.

"Well, you tested him already. He has not changed, Kaius?" She asked.

"No, M'Lady."

"Let him go, then."

"You aren't concerned about him?" Kaius gave the stranger another suspicious look.

"I can defend myself, thank you, Kaius," she told him briskly. "If you are concerned, you may linger. I will call you if I require assistance."

Kaius looked like he was about to argue, but then decided against it, loping off into the rain and taking the other guards with him. The stranger remained standing on her doorstep, his gold eyes still penetrating her, even as she handed him his weapons back.

"I need help." The stranger spoke for the first time, his avian-sharp gaze piercing her. He had a deep voice like splintering gravel, his accent indicating he came from somewhere distant, but again, she could not determine where.

She paused on her doorstep, her jaw tightening. "Oh?" A lot of trolls that came her way needed help, but she could not help them all. "And what is it you need?"

"I came here searching for a magician. Where might I find one?"

She started at this. What could have prompted him to come so far? Troll wizards were rare, but not _that_ rare. "I am she," she ventured. "Do you need a book? A spell?"

He looked her up and down, but his unreadable expression did not change. "Neither," responded the other. "I need training."

She hesitated, then stepped aside. "Come in."

He stepped inside, trailing water from his dripping cloak, and hung the sodden fur from her coat rack, revealing a small pack that looked like it could barely carry anything at all. It bulged from the mass of objects inside, the corner of a book peeking out of the pack's flap. She closed the door and made to pick up her candle, but it had gone out.

"Sit," she said, indicating the worn chairs at the table. The stranger sat, looking about. None of his previous tension had left his body.

"Before I do anything for you, you need to tell me who you are and why you're here," she told him stiffly.

The stranger's eyes narrowed again, but he began his story.


	4. Trades, Pt 2

As he expected, the guards found and stopped him minutes after entering the small town. They had searched him for weapons (fortunately not disturbing the pack on his back, concealed as it was by his cloak) and subjected him to a gaggletack. When he did not change, they took him up the mountain under spear-point.

It was no less than what he would have done to a stranger in his village under the current circumstances. But it was nevertheless infuriating; their meddling slowed him down. His sole purpose was to find the person he was looking for, get what he needed, and leave, not stand in front of some tribunal or other and explain what he was doing.

They did not lead him to a prison or before a bench of scowling judges, however, but to a cross between a cave and a cabin, dug into the hillside. A female troll answered the guard's knock, and by the way he kept addressing the woman as M'Lady, she must have some authority, a very difficult position for a woman to get. He appraised her as she spoke with the guard.

Average in stature and build, he nevertheless would have thought her pretty had he been much younger. Her black hair had been simply but neatly tied back between slate-colored horns, her jade skin mostly covered by leather armor. Her posture radiated authority; she drew herself up, making herself appear tall, and her stance spread wide, as though stabilizing her center of gravity for a fight.

The guard handed her his dagger and staff. He analyzed the guard, noting the female's use of the guard's name: Kaius. He filed the information away for later while the female questioned Kaius, asking something about changelings. The guard seemed to answer deferentially, and she dismissed the guards moments later. She handed him his weapons back; he nestled the hunting knife safely at his side once more, missing its weight. He told her what he was looking for upon her request, and she introduced herself as the sorcerer he was searching for.

He appraised her again. She did not look like a sorcerer; her regalia befitted a warrior as opposed to a wizard of any type, but she'd probably had to adapt. He wouldn't be surprised; based on what he'd seen, she also seemed to be this troll tribe's leader, and in this age of war, they'd all had to adapt. She invited him inside to talk, and he took the invitation, removing his sodden cloak with a sense of relief.

He glanced around, locating all points of exit. The cave itself was rather large, arranged not unlike the abandoned hut in the tundra, with the hearth to the forefront, the table in the middle of the room, and a curtained area he presumed to be her sleeping quarters to the back. Bookshelves illuminated by strange hexagonal lamps were scattered along the walls, their leather spines etched with mystic symbols. Various weapons hung or sat propped above and against the shelves, respectively; a crossbow, a mace, a sword, a pike, an axe, all well-cared for. She clearly knew how to defend herself.

She bade him sit and demanded an explanation from him. He willingly told her the story he'd rehearsed, his gaze still roaming the room and books behind her. She drank in his words, studying him with dark, intense eyes.

"I've heard your story many times," she said as he concluded. "Gunmar's war has ravaged many villages. A lot of people come here looking for help. But this is the first time, to my knowledge, that I have been approached by a fellow sorcerer seeking assistance."

"My abilities are still…immature," he growled with distaste. "I need help controlling the magic if I want to help my people. Are you skilled enough to…teach me?" He coughed out the final two words. A troll his age shouldn't need to be taught by anyone.

She eyed him. "If you are willing to help me in return. My people are preparing for battle should Gunmar's horde ever find us here. But that means we don't have a lot of time to hunt. I notice you carry a hunter's dagger. Help me feed my people, and I will teach you. Do we have an accord?"

He clenched his teeth and made himself shake the hand that the female extended, sealing the deal. He withdrew quickly, feeling sullied by the contract.

"You're uncomfortable," she noted.

 _Say nothing of me_ , Argante hissed in his head.

"I do not seek help lightly," he responded.

"I understand. Hold up your part of the deal, and I will hold up mine."

He grunted, but gave her a short nod. She watched him still.

"I noticed you are interested in my books."

"It is curious that a small village would own such a large collection," he said, picking his words carefully.

"Along with being a leader and the tribe's sorcerer, I serve as a curator of sorts for much of the tribe's history and knowledge. Lately I have been trading for spellbooks as an attempt to expand on my knowledge."

"Do you study both kinds of magic?" He asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

She shot him a sharp look. "Dark magic is forbidden."

"I do not deny that, but knowing something is the key to its undoing. Gunmar wields a mighty sword that corrupts the minds of those touched by its magic. Many of my people were subjected to its power, and I seek a counterspell to his evil."

Her face softened. "Ah. Then I pity your people, my friend."

He leaned forward, splaying his hands on the rough table. "Pity is for the families of the dead. If you care, help them."

"Very well. You may have access to my books, but be careful; there are books here I do not dare read. I do not know where they come from or what spells they have been bound with, but," she ran her fingers through the air, "they darken this place with their magic. I keep them to safeguard them from the enemy and no other reason." She got up and picked a book off the shelf. "Here. This is as good a place as any for your education to start."

He opened the book, flipped a few pages, and scowled at her. "This?" He indicated the guide of rocks, plants, and animals.

"Yes. Many minerals, flora, and fauna can be utilized in different ways in magic. This is your basic guide to-"

 _This information is of little use to you,_ Baba Yaga hissed inside his head, drowning out the chieftain' s words _. Look to forbidden knowledge for true power._

The ringing voice apparently only he could hear faded from his head, and he realized he was staring at the book without reading, the page detailing the flying pests known as pixies. He knew enough about pixies; the hallucinations they caused sometimes sent trolls tumbling to their deaths if the host did not know how to get rid of them. But this book had more than just that. _This creature can be summoned with a simple incantation and is an effective tool for misguidance and distraction if used properly._

"Hmm. Interesting place to start," the chieftain remarked, peering over the book. "You know, they once stopped a war on their own. The defenders released clouds of these creatures, and the enemy was trapped in battle, hallucinating until the sun came up."

He glanced around at some of the "lamps" and realized they were actually jars full of bouncing balls of light.

"You think you can trick Gunmar into leaving you alone with this…distraction?" He gestured to one of the pixie-lamps. "He has encountered pixies before. He will know how to counter them, and he will slaughter you."

"Which is precisely why they are the _first_ line of defense. We have other plans, you know," the she-troll quipped.

"You have no idea what Gunmar is capable of."

She brought a fist down on the table, her eyes suddenly full of fury. "You think I don't know that? Every refugee that comes over those mountains says the same, warning me of the danger that's coming. What am I supposed to do? My people have been here for centuries!" She jabbed a finger at her door. "Do you think they're just going to pack up and leave at a moment's notice, like you did?"

Angor jumped to his feet, his fingers curling around the handle of his knife. "Do not _dare,_ " he snarled, baring his fangs, "presume to know what it's like to face the Skullcrusher. You don't know the devastation he will bring."

She glared fiercely at him, but he did not so much as blink. Her furious gaze was but a pale imitation of Gunmar's or Argante's rage.

"You're right," she said, turning away from him after a long moment. She studied one of the pixie-cage lamps. "I shouldn't have said that. But I cannot simply tell my people to abandon what they've built here."

"You do not want to face Gunmar's hordes. You have no chance of success against him."

"As much as I appreciate the counsel," she said, biting the words off, "I will make that decision on my own."

Silence fell between them. His fingers slid from the handle of his knife, and he sat, returning his gaze to the field guide. He only then noticed his hands were smoldering quietly, but they stopped as he noticed.

"Congratulations, by the way."

He looked up, confused. She was smiling again, if a bit stiffly.

"First rule of magic; learn precise control of your emotions. With practice it becomes easier, but intense emotions can trigger manifestations, which is dangerous. Once you learn to control them, you can begin harnessing your emotions to fuel your power. But we'll leave that for a later lesson." She crossed her arms and peered at him. "I don't believe I know your name yet."

"Angor Rot," he replied drily.

"Well met. I'm Lybran. Chief Lybran, that is."

He grunted noncommittally and flipped a few pages in the book, glancing over various descriptions with minimal interest. Lybran dropped another book on the table.

"To help you with the translations," she said. "Magic is a language all its own, and its runes hold unique capabilities. Learn to read the runes, and you can do things you'll never guess yourself capable of. Within your ability, of course," she added, the corner of her mouth lifting.

He thanked her gruffly and turned his attention to the rune book, thumbing through it. One of the runes caught his attention; a particularly spiky one that, according to the book, meant "shadow" or "darkness". The book currently tucked in his pack had the same symbol inscribed onto the worn cover and inked over and over and over again onto the crackling pages. This she-troll did not like dark magic, and he was in possession of a book that apparently taught the reader just that.

Under no circumstances, he decided, could he let her find it.

"By the way, you're on hunting duty tomorrow," she said, a little smirk crossing her mouth. He nodded. A productive hunt would take his mind off this recent development, though in the back of his head he knew that she could never discover his intentions.

 _Tread carefully, little hunter, or the hunter will become the hunted._

 **A/N: Be careful with that book, hunter. Its secrets and power run deep...**


	5. Forbidden Thoughts

The striped fletching tickled Angor's cheek as he drew the arrow back, the borrowed yew bow creaking faintly under his fingers. He sighted along the shaft, carefully adjusting for the wind as he picked out a fat doe grazing placidly at the edge of the herd. The wind rustled fading leaves, sending their animal-hair scent his way. He inhaled, a pleased smile curling his mouth. He could already taste venison.

He released the arrow, sending it hissing into the darkness. The doe fell soundlessly, kicked twice, and was still, its heart pierced by the arrowhead. The herd reacted drunkenly at first, scrambling awkwardly to their long, thin legs as the scent of blood hit them. A second arrow followed his first, neatly piercing another deer's ribcage as the herd scattered, bounding for the cover of the thick tree trunks and calling to each other in panic. A third arrow whizzed towards the animals, striking a buck in the hindquarters. The injured animal stumbled and fell, the otherwise peaceful night split with the sound of its distress. The wounded animal flailed on the ground, tossing its sharp rack of antlers and kicking out with its hooves. He dispatched it with a fourth arrow and approached to retrieve the projectiles.

The bushes behind him rustled, Kaius' bulky form parting the scraggly branches in a snapping of twigs.

"It's a wonder your tribe hasn't starved with your hunting skills," Angor remarked, yanking the arrow out of the buck and tossing it to the bulky guard.

Kaius bared his teeth, almost snapping the shaft between his thick fingers. "Don't mistake the chieftain's favor for my approval, outsider," he growled as Angor pulled his arrow from his deer's sternum. "It tends to throw your aim off when you don't know if your _hunting partner's_ arrow will wind up in your back."

"A proper hunter does not make excuses," Angor growled back, hoisting both his carcass over his shoulders. "He gets results."

Kaius snarled, infuriated, but picked up his deer. Leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked through the dawn-lit forest, checking the traps set by the previous hunting party. Angor watched his guard fumble with tying a couple of dead quails together. As Kaius did not know how to adjust for the wind, neither did he know his knots, another necessary bit of information for any hunter. Clearly the hulking brute had been picked just so the she-troll could keep an eye on him. Angor supposed Lybran had her reasons; Kaius may not be very skilled in the art of the hunt, but he wasn't stupid either.

He'd made Angor take point on the hunt, and Angor had noted that the troll had watched his every move. Moreover, Kaius had questioned his judgement over and over again as they tracked their game. Angor wondered if Kaius had done so to test his knowledge of hunting or to try to provoke him. His mouth twisted in a snarl; if the guard intended the latter, he'd come close, dangerously close. He glanced at Kaius and the axe across his back for the hundredth time that night, studying the troll. If the guard came after him with that axe..

 _I see you are considering your opponent,_ Baba Yaga purred inside his head. _Clever hunter._

He gave his head a shake. _Get out of my head!_ He thought savagely.

 _But it is only obvious,_ the witch responded, her voice teasing. _You have been watching him all night like he is prey. Tell me, hunter; is hunting your own kind so different?_

 _Yes,_ he responded silently. _Animals do not think like we do._

Kaius straightened and glanced at him, slinging the brace of dead birds over his broad shoulder.

 _Do you really believe that?_ Argante crooned, her voice fading, echoing inside his head.

"Let's go, before the sun rises," the guard captain said shortly.

Angor followed with a hunter's silent step, still appraising the larger troll, still turning the question over in his head. To hunt a fellow troll would employ the same skills he used while hunting game; learning their patterns, studying their defensive capabilities, discovering their weaknesses and soft spots. Being the same species as his prey only gave him an incontrovertible edge. He could slip in close without suspicion, opening up easier ways of killing his prey; a dagger in the back while the target was asleep, poison in their food or drink, a deliberate "accident".

But the horror of murdering other trolls just because he had orders to sickened him. He hunted because he had to and killed in self-defense only when the enemy was bent on his destruction. _And yet…_ The hollowness inside him nagged, gnawing at his mind. The deal would follow him until he fulfilled it or died trying; Lady Pale's palpable influence, even though her corporeal form resided miles and miles away, was proof of that. If he could just get it over with, perhaps She would release him from his binding contract.

He followed Kaius up the village's muddy central road, watched by the few trolls still out and about at this hour of the morning. They peered owlishly at the two huntstrolls from over mugs of grog and dice games he couldn't make out the rules of. The guard captain demanded Angor's kills, as well as the borrowed bow and arrows, and he gave it over with a condescending sneer. It was that or spend more time than necessary with the troll. He wanted to get on with learning what he'd come all the way here for so he could find his people.

Dawn sunlight peeked over the horizon by the time he reached the isolated cabin, illuminating the spiky, sparse grass that grew along the road and casting the first pale shadows of the trees across the wooden door. He entered without knocking; the smell of animal blood would both give away his presence and identify him. His magic tutor sat at the table in front of the hearth, reading.

"The mighty hunter returns," she said sardonically, not looking up. "How many did you get?"

"I hunt best _alone_ ," he said, his voice dipping into dangerous registers. "Why did you not tell me I would be hunting with a partner?"

She looked up, her face tight. "I don't like to deceive you, but as chieftain I have a duty to protect my people. I barely know you, and I don't entirely trust you."

He growled. "Your mistrust almost cost you. Your guard is no hunter."

"Which is why I need you," she said. "Most of my hunters disappeared into the mountains and have not come back, leaving only the warriors and the craftsmen. Our warriors must prepare for battle, and though they are learning to be hunters, they are not yet skilled enough to completely sustain our village, occupied as they are with battle preparations."

"Training your guards to hunt was not part of the agreement, and his intrusive presence delayed me. I could have returned far earlier had it not been for him," he retorted from between clenched teeth, fury boiling in his gut.

"Having you here is an asset I can't aff-"

 _Asset?_ He yanked his hunting knife from its sheath and rammed it into the tabletop. She jumped up.

"I am _not_ a tool, and I will not be treated like one!" He snarled. "We made a fair trade; my hunting skills for your magic lessons. You have yet to teach me anything at all."

She folded one arm across her chest and gestured to her books. "Then get busy." She turned away. He snatched the knife from the table and threw it, sending the blade tearing through the air dangerously close to her face. It stuck in the wall, quivering. She whirled, her eyes narrowed, her fists clenched and sparking with blue-white magic.

"I _did not_ ," he hissed, his chest heaving in fury, "make this deal simply so I could read your books."

"I cannot teach you in this state," she responded, drawing herself up. "Your magic would be too volatile. Come back tomorrow evening."

She swept the curtain aside and disappeared behind it, clearly ending the conversation. He stood there for a long moment, wondering if he should pursue her, his sharp nails gouging his palms.

 _Let it go, my hunter,_ a voice crooned. _You will have your chance._

He strode to the far wall and retrieved his dagger, sheathing it again. _What did I come here for?_ _What is my_ purpose _for being here?_ He glanced back at the curtain.

 _She can teach you but the basics,_ Lady Pale told him. _Many of these magical arts she does not study. You will have to learn on your own and apply what she teaches you._

 _The forbidden books,_ he realized. He approached the shelves to study the spines. _But she will find out. She is far more competent at magic than I; I would not succeed were I to fight her._

Baba Yaga cackled in his head. _Do not be so sure, my hunter. You are a fast learner._

 **A/N: I know, I know. You all want to see Angor stalk/murder some trolls. It's coming, I promise.**

 **The reason he has this formative period in arcane teaching at all is that it seems most magical things in trolldom require some element of training to be able to control. Both the Amulet and the Skathe-Hrun are proof of this.**

 **So he has to learn magic before he can fully use it, though I wouldn't be too concerned about me dragging this training out. Angor _is_ a fast learner...**


	6. Necessity

"Empty your mind. Think of nothing but a single emotion. Study it; what does it feel like?"

The sorceress stopped her distracting monologue, and for a long moment he heard only the sound of the wind stirring the dying leaves. He shifted and scowled, his eyes still closed. He could be patient when he needed to be, but waiting on _someone else_ to _tell_ him what to do was not his strong suit. Anger jabbed at him, hot and sharp as a newly-forged blade.

"Once you have the emotion, concentrate your entire mind on it and focus-oh!"

He opened his eyes. His tutor stared at his hands, cupped in his lap. He looked down. A smoky purple flame flickered in his palms, casting eerie illumination across the clearing where they both sat.

"The few magicians I've taught don't usually get it that quickly. But you do have the advantage of experience over my previous pupils. Now again."

He grunted and extinguished the tiny fire in his palm, letting his annoyance at her feed his emotions. This time, the flame ignited more quickly.

"You have excellent control," Lybran remarked. She smiled a little crookedly. "I noticed you took some of my books. Is studying them helping you?"

He grunted. She did not need to know what he used the books for. Such explanations, he thought, were self-evident through the story he'd told her. But perhaps she was testing him, seeing if his story remained the same…

"What kind of magic is it that you seek to undo by studying the darker texts?" she asked.

"Gunmar's sorcery alters the mind. Those affected cannot be reasoned with," he responded shortly.

She made a contemplative noise. "A difficult-to-unravel kind of magic. You must be able to lift the spell without destroying the individual's personality."

"Self-evident," he told her, his voice dipping into a growl.

"I assume that's why you took the book on binding spells." She peered at him in the moonlight, her eyes mere shimmers, like light off of night-darkened waters. She _was_ testing him…

"I am only doing what _you_ would do for your people if you were forced into the same situation," he snapped.

"Of course," she said, half to herself.

"And while we sit and talk about what knowledge I acquired, my people are being torn apart." He smothered the tongue of amethyst fire in a fist, piercing her with a glare.

" _Okay_ , then," she said, her voice stiffening. Her hands found the walking stick she'd brought with her. The echoing _clack_ of wood striking wood resounded as he brought his own stick up to block hers, his instincts spurring him into a crouch.

"Defend yourself!" She barked, and flew at him. He twisted, avoiding her next blow, his mouth curling in a grim smile as he weaved between her swings and jabs, answering every blow with one of his own. He knew this dance all too well; he'd likely mastered it before she'd even been born. She moved with all the grace and speed of a fellow warrior, but as he watched her movements, he noticed she drew her weapon back too far, giving him more time to anticipate her, stepped a little too far, unbalancing her center of gravity, and held her stick too low.

He raised a hand to block her stick when she struck out again, taking the stinging smack of the wood across his palm to secure a hold on the weapon. He lunged forward and rammed the she-troll with his forehead, tugging on the staff at the same time. She staggered, the stick slipping from her hands. He smirked and raised his weapon above her.

A blue-and-white fireball slammed into his chest like the very fist of Gunmar himself, throwing him bodily across the clearing. He sprawled on the sparse grass, the smell of wet mud hitting him from the fresh gouges his body dug into the earth. He picked himself up, snarling with pain and leaning heavily on his stick. He searched for his opponent, who also was struggling to her feet.

"Trickery," he growled.

"No," she responded, wiping her mouth. "Imbalance. You have to learn to use magic in battle, which takes a great deal more control than using it for other things…and expect it from others who can use magic." She crossed to her staff and picked it up. " _That's_ why we start with the basics."

"I don't have _time_ for this," he snarled.

" _You_ came to _me_ ," she snapped back. "If you don't like my methods, then leave."

He let out an angry snort, whirling away from her. Even the mountain range that rose above him seemed to mock him, reminding him of how very, very, _very_ far away his people were. He dug his nails into his staff's hard wood and bared his teeth. He had to get home, and these worthless lessons were only delaying him.

"Look, I understand how you feel. But if you want to do this training thing right, you're going to have to listen to me," the sorceress said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know I may not be the best teacher, but I try to do things for a reason."

He shoved her hand off. What was he _doing,_ fooling around with this she-troll when he had no idea what had become of his people or village? "I do not need your excuses. My people need me; I have been absent for far too long."

He did not spare her a second glance, and she did not stop him from walking away. Her penetrating stare on his back faded as he threaded between the trees, heading for the thinning line of foliage and the jagged mountain peaks that grazed the sky like great teeth.

 _You will stay, hunter. This troll still has much to teach you._

He slammed into an invisible wall mid-step, his feet rooting to the spot as though stuck in swamp-mud. He tried to move forward, but such a feat proved impossible, no matter how he twisted or turned. He bellowed in fury. Such impossibility could only be sourced by the foul magics of the Inferna Copula and the one wielding it.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned, seething, to face his incompetent tutor. Lybran looked him over.

"Oh. I thought you had mortally wounded yourself," she said, sounding somewhat disappointed. He brushed by her, staring down at the village's flickering cook-fires that he could just make out through the dense foliage.

"I thought you were leaving," she remarked, crossing her arms.

"I have little choice," he responded, his voice cold.

"You want to continue with our lesson?"

"I will find you when I need your guidance," he said, throwing another look up at the mountains.

"Then good luck." She threw a sour look at him and vanished between the trees, the sound of her feet fading.

He spent the rest of the night hiking through the moonlit woods, testing the influence of the Eldritch Queen's spell. Dawn found him, furious and embittered by his failure, returning to his dwell to study with the realization that he could not leave without Her permission.

 **A/N: Sorry, kind of a shorter chapter. Hope you enjoyed it, though. I couldn't quite figure out how to transition between this and the next chapter, in which he will be hopefully more competent in the arcane arts (due to the time-lapse I'm going to add).**

 **Next chapter I'm going to be digging into the darker spell-books he's been studying. He gets dangerously close to revealing himself with this but it should be fun... (rubs hands and cackles)**


	7. A Coming Storm

The hearth-fire crackled quietly in the background, the smell of wood-smoke distinct and familiar as he again scoured the words and runes in _The Properties and Counter-Spells of Binding Magic,_ searching with quiet fury for some answer, _any_ answer, to his current predicament. If he could find a way to even _loosen_ the magical contract's hold on him, perhaps he might relieve himself of this…obligation…and begin his search for his people. He turned a few more pages, reading through descriptions on how specific enchantments worked to hold individuals in place or within the confines of an area, usually via a magical object. He growled. Neither the stasis traps nor the barrier-stones described fit the circumstances of his own confinement, as they both required an actual physical object to be present within the vicinity of the individual being contained. He pushed the book aside, pulled a second similar book towards him, and began to read again. A cold draft brushed across one side of his face like a gentle caress.

 _And still the fool searches for some release,_ crooned a voice, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Leave me be, witch," he snarled at the flickering shadows.

Baba Yaga cackled _. You will not find the answers you are looking for. But go ahead, satisfy your curiosity. You will only feel a greater fool when you realize you cannot undo what is done._

"I will not waste my time here indefinitely. I have been stuck here for thirteen moons-"

 _And yet far longer than that passed in the northlands. You aren't eager to get back to your tribe, hunter; you are trying to escape inferiority thrust upon you by circumstance._

He brought a fist on the tabletop with enough force to make the books jump. "I fled because I had no _choice!_ " He shouted, his voice echoing from the walls. _"_ Without control of the magic, my immediate return would have only left my people without a leader when I fell under Gunmar's sword."

 _You left because of_ cowardice _. You are running from what you have become. And you are trying to run from_ me.

He slammed a palm against his head, desperate for the voice in his head to be silent. "Lies!-" He bellowed at nothing, but even he could hear the anguish in his voice.

Again mocking laughter echoed inside his head. _I know your intentions, little hunter. You cannot hide your guilt from me. Imagine how they must feel, scattered by Gunmar's hordes._

He could see it as though it was happening before his very eyes; his once-proud, rugged people, huddled together in shallow caves, picking over bones and shivering in the cold, watched by the blank, frozen stares of those who had gotten caught in the sun. His whole body shuddered in protest.

"Enough," he choked, digging his nails into his face as though he could tear the images from his mind. "No more. Please."

 _No more running, little hunter. Your purpose is to serve MY will now. You know my power, and you know I would force your hand if I must. You will stay here._

He groaned and rested his head on the table's cool wood top. _Blasted magic._ "She can teach me little, though," he murmured, recalling Lady Pale's previous discussion on the subject.

 _Come now. You know better than that…_

He glanced at the leather-wrapped volumes scattered across the tabletop. "My continued studies of these books can only end poorly. If they find out, and they will if you do not let me leave, they may try to kill me. I'm no use to you dead."

 _When that time comes, I will release you. And if you fail to elude them…well, you wouldn't be much of a warrior, would you?_ Baba Yaga cackled again.

He growled in distaste. He knew his limits well, and fighting large groups of hostile trolls ranged beyond his capabilities. Even now that he could control his magic much better, he still didn't think he had the finesse to utilize it in long-term combat.

 _One of these books may help you…_ the witch purred, her voice becoming more distant. He sat up with another low growl. She was pretty much setting him up to force a confrontation just to see what he could do. And speaking with her tested his patience; her ambiguity was easy enough for him to untangle, but it still tested his patience for the mere fact he _had_ to put effort into making sense of what she said.

He looked over the small literary collection strewn across the table. Most of the tomes detailed binding enchantments, desperate as he had been to find some solution to the contract, but a couple had wards against arcane meddling inked into the pages. He couldn't remember if he had read them. His gaze fell on a particularly dusty book lying beyond the others, hanging half-off the table.

 _Animus Totems and Magical Defenses,_ the cover glyphs read. He couldn't remember taking it from the sorceress' library, but here it was, nonetheless. He picked it up, eyeing it like a poisonous snake, gingerly opened the cover, and began to read.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

The pale stranger entered her dwell with all the preamble she'd come to expect, slinking into her peripheral like a wary wolf, his arms full of her books. She addressed his presence, not looking up from her own study of the village map and surrounding area.

"Back again? I'm surprised you haven't turned into a fat scholar by now."

"I'd be a fool not to use your library," he responded stiffly.

She glanced at him, smirking. "True. Any progress with the counterspell?"

"No." His tone brooked no further conversation on her part.

She turned back to her map, considering him. He had noble intent; coming so far, studying under her though he clearly didn't enjoy it. But she couldn't help questioning his motives and wondering whether or not the story he'd told was complete bogus. She'd kept careful track of the books he'd been taking from her library, and the list was disturbing. The tomes he'd been reading almost exclusively related to magic enslaving the mind, body, or (Gorgus forbid) soul. Many of these books contained counter-spells to the binding magic as well as the spell themselves, but a select few did not. Perhaps he was using the knowledge to help research his counter-spell to the great (and yet unconfirmed) evil of Gunmar's spells, but she had to consider the fact he was not, and the story he'd told her was pure lies.

The door clattered a little as he disappeared again, carrying off yet another armful of books. Her gaze drifted to the deep gash he'd cut into the wood on that second meeting. How should she address this potential threat? She was already having the guards follow him around on hunting trips. Though she'd given strict instructions for them not to interfere with his direction (unless they knew they were being misled), not a single one had any complaint against him. Quite the opposite, in fact; they all seemed impressed with his hunting ability, despite the fact he turned a cold shoulder to their presence. He was, unintentionally or not, working himself into a position of influence by winning their favor; they would spread word of his skill. If her people knew the true impact of his talents on the food supply, they might not want to throw him out, even after she, their chieftain, revealed the fact he was studying forbidden and evil magic.

She crossed to the bookshelves and analyzed their contents; as expected, he'd taken a mix of dark and counter-magic books, but nothing to definitively prove he was studying the black arts. Calling him out wrongly might damage her leadership capabilities; her people, fed by both the stories of his hunting skills and the results of said skills, would likely defend him. But she also knew she couldn't sit passively and continue to teach him, not if he posed a threat to the village. She had to come up with a more delicate solution.

"M'Lady."

She turned. Kaius was standing in the doorway, the muddy tracks behind him and the lowered crossbow in one hand a testament that he had just come back from guard duty. His face looked grim, his eyes glimmering darkly beneath his heavy eyebrows

"I was hoping you'd show up. What news do you have for me?"

"Our scouts saw a river of torches a week's journey on foot west of here. They're coming this way."

She stiffened, a frown momentarily creasing her face. "They likely do not know we are here yet. There's little we can do that we haven't already done to prepare; for now we must wait and watch…and hope."

He grunted, but nodded in assent.

"In the meantime, there's something I need you to do for me."

"Name it, Chief."

"The visiting stranger - Angor- he's been studying dark magic extensively. He said it was for the purpose of trying to unwind Gumar's sorcery, but lately that claim has been cast under scrutiny. I need one of your guards-any idle one should do- to slip into his dwell and try to gather information on him."

Kaius growled in displeasure. "I told you there was something not right about him. You should have thrown him out."

She rubbed a hand across her forehead. "I know, Kaius. I'm kicking myself for not doing it sooner. But I don't have any proof, and I still don't. That's why I need you to watch him with double the scrutiny."

The guard captain grunted and hefted his crossbow. "He does always carry that pack with him, and he always has a book in there. I thought it might have been a field guide, but… " He trailed off, lost in thought.

 _Suspicious._ "Hmm. See if you can get your hands on it. I'll send him out hunting every night so your men get a chance to do surveillance and gather some information."

"And If we find something suspicious?"

"Be careful not to reveal the fact you know, and bring the information straight to me. I'll need to make a decision on how to handle him, and I don't want you getting caught in a fight with him. He may not look like much, but he nearly bested me _before_ he could control his magic. I am concerned what he's learned since then."

Kaius' scowl deepened. "Accursed magic."

"Agreed. Don't disturb him now; he'll be in his dwell, reading. Good luck, and be careful."

The guard captain nodded once and left. Lybran turned back to her map, not really studying it, one question swimming around and around in her head.

 _Angor Rot, who are you?_

 **A/N: Gorgus help the poor soul if Angor catches them spying on him. Next chapter is the final confrontation in the village, and then the REAL hunt begins.**

 **I am SO looking forward to it. Heeheehee...**

 **Hope you enjoyed it, and I'll see you next chapter!**


	8. Butting Horns

Thick black tallow-smoke drifted over the open book and the flecks of stone scattered upon the pages. He carefully brushed them aside, his gaze drifting from the dying candles to the last sanguine rays of fading daylight peeking through the shutters. He returned his attention to his carving. One of the town guards would come to him soon to call him for hunting duty, and he fully intended to finish the totem before then. If Argante wanted him to fight these villagers, he wouldn't do so alone, mainly because it was _suicide_ to even consider that. True, there weren't many of them, but most of them were competent enough with a weapon to be at least a minor threat, and he wasn't _nearly_ conceited enough to believe he could defeat them all singlehandedly.

Hence the totems.

He blew the dust off the figurine, murmured the incantation, and tucked it into his belt pouch, already heavy with the weight of identical objects, then picked up another chunk of stone. He managed to just start the first of the contour lines before a pounding on the door interrupted him. He growled, annoyed, and put the carving aside, flicking the book shut as he passed. No reason to give them any clues as to what he was doing.

He opened the door to reveal the grumpy-looking guard captain carrying a spare bow and quiver.

"You're on hunting duty tonight," the heavyset troll said without preamble, thrusting the hunting equipment at him.

"I would have thought your warriors would have become _more_ skilled watching me, not _less_ skilled. Unless they are so indolent they think I can do their work for them?" He remarked, crossing his arms.

The other troll growled. "The only reason you're on hunting duty is because the chief _wants_ you on hunting duty. Now come on. We're wasting moonlight."

He took the weapons and gave the guard a scathing look, stepping into the wan light of the rising moon. The open hearth-fires opposite his cabin spilled strange, spiky shadows along the central road, distorting both trolls' outlines into unrecognizable monstrosities. Kaius turned away from him, headed towards the forest.

"Besides, if you're half as good as you say you are, then you should be able to do what two of _us_ can."

Angor snorted, slinging the quiver over his back with a foul-tempered twitch of his mouth. He knew his capabilities perfectly, and the guard captain had to realize by now that he _had_ been hunting enough for two hunters for the last few days. Something was wrong, or the sorceress wouldn't have sent him out so many days in a row. Twice was a coincidence, but three, four times was a pattern. They either suspected something or trouble was brewing elsewhere. He had to find out, and quickly.

He stalled by his door a moment longer, slipping one of the enchanted totems from his belt pouch and dropping it to the muddy ground outside his hut, then stepped on it, grinding it into the dirt and mostly obscuring it from view. Unorthodox, but hopefully it would work to keep prying eyes away from his secrets.

Angor caught up easily with the guard, who shot him a glare, but didn't say anything as he shouldered past, memory guiding him to the trail into the mountains. He heard Kaius question this, but didn't respond. If he could get high enough, he might be able to see the valley and its surroundings and in turn look for approaching enemies. The mountain air grew colder as the two of them climbed, frost accumulating on the rocks that partially blocked the route, the steepening path becoming treacherous with ice patches. The trees thinned as they reached the mountain peak, and Angor took a long moment to survey the valley floor, where the village cook-fires burned serenely. But they were far from the only light he saw.

Little more than a nights' march west of the valley, by his best guess, lay a glimmering field of lights, like the heavens themselves had fallen and now lay twinkling across the base of the mountains. The light-river inched its way east, like the glacial movement of pine sap enveloping an already-trapped insect. He stared, unable to feel anything other than shock. The sight was awesome and horrifying in equal measures, especially to one who had seen these lights before.

Gunmar's horde had come.

He whirled on Kaius as the troll came lumbering up behind him.

"Does your chieftain know?" He snapped at the guard. He may not have _liked_ the tribe much, but neither did he have much interest in watching them be murdered.

Kaius looked out over the scene spread below them. "Gorgus help us," he muttered. "I got word, but I didn't think it was this bad…" He turned to Angor. "We need to go back,"Kaius told him, his expression serious. "The chief has to know; they'll find us by the middle of the night."

"This is not my fight," Angor growled, turning away from the troll. "Do not expect me to die for your imbecile chieftain's mistakes."

Kaius grabbed at his shoulder, missed, and seized his bag's strap. The worn, abused leather tore, spilling the contents across the rocky dirt.

He turned the second he felt the weight of his pack leave his shoulder, only to find Kaius straightening, the book in one thick-fingered hand, his gaze locked onto the cover. He went for his knife and gripped his stick more securely, anticipating a fight. Kaius looked up from the book and extended it towards him, but he saw the slight flicker of puzzlement that crossed the troll's face. He released his knife and took the book back, his eyes never leaving the guard captain's face. The unspoken question of whether or not the captain recognized the symbol hung in the air like the scent of troll-stone dust, the atmosphere between them as tense as a drawn bow-string.

Kaius spoke, breaking the moment. "Our chieftain has difficulty in listening to counsel. Help me speak with her; perhaps we can convince her together."

 _Do this, my hunter,_ Argante's voice whispered in the breeze. Angor clenched his staff until the wood groaned, compulsion to do as the guard requested sweeping over him. He gave the captain a short nod, clenching his teeth so tightly in silent fury that he felt they might crack. Kaius turned and started back down the trail as fast as he could move; Angor followed as though chained invisibly to the other troll, the cogent pull of the magic dragging him back towards the soon-to-be death trap the village had now become.

The lights of the village grew as they approached, but it only reminded him of the growing danger of Gunmar's army. He glanced at the villagers they passed; they still hunched over their mugs and dice, but their faces were grim, and they carried weapons with a new familiarity: bows and axes slung across their backs, swords resting by their sides. A few even wore patchwork armor that gleamed dully in the firelight.

They were not ready. They never would be.

A cluster of trolls was grouped around the chieftain's hut, all restless and wielding torches and weapons. They hurled questions like a shower of rocks at the guard captain, but Kaius brushed them aside, the cabin door clattering as he disappeared inside. Angor made to follow, but the wood had barely finished rattling on the doorframe before it slammed open again in the chieftain's wake. Her gaze flicked across the crowd, found him, and zoned in on the book he was holding. Her face darkened in fury.

" _You!_ "

She bulled her way through the crowd, magic flames dancing in her palms. He dropped the book and pulled his knife out, his focus narrowing to just her.

"Gunmar knows we're here because of _you_!"

The indistinct chatter of the crowd faded, heads swiveling towards the commotion. In the sudden silence, he could hear the distant, alarmed blaring of a horn, which suddenly cut off. As one, the villagers and their leader looked towards the sound, and he rammed the troll blocking his escape aside and ran for it.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

 **A/N: For some reason, I had a lot of difficulty writing this chapter. I wanted to get the diction and the scenes right; all I really had in my head was the torch river and the confrontation at the very end (which is just the beginning of their fight, just f.y.i.). I'ma do a short flashback before concluding the fight.**

 **I hope it was worth the wait. I have more coming, promise.**

By the way, if you ever can't get to this story for some reason, I have also begun the process of putting this up on A03 as well.

Special shout-out to Sync, Oliver2016, and Forever-Furbura who have been following my story and leaving very kind comments. I really appreciate the support; it's been super-fun writing for this fandom and this character in particular, but I do love to hear that you love and are excited by my work. :)

 **Thanks to all my readers as well. Like I said, this journey is far from over, and I hope you stick with my story to the end.**


	9. Precipice

The main road bustled, a strange sign so early in the night, and one that did not bode well. The street was alive with activity, but eerily devoid of conversation; worried-looking trolls hastily packed carts with their portable belongings, and grim-faced warriors stacked broken wagons and barrels and wooden crates into barricades in preparation for the inevitable fight. Some of them approached her, desperate for counsel; she offered a few encouraging words as she passed. She could not tend to them all right now, not when she was balancing _two_ potential threats. Her spy had not returned from searching Angor's dwell, but that was the least of her worries. She had other matters to attend to, the first being getting a better idea of how much time the villagers had before Gunmar's horde broke over them.

The watchman loped up to her as she neared the main road. His expression was dismal; whatever he had to say couldn't possibly be good.

"Chief," he addressed her.

"Tell me," she said, ignoring all polite conventions. Now was not the time for pleasantries.

"They're moving faster than we expected. They'll be here by late nighttime."

" _Blasted_ magic," she spat, half to herself. Gunmar must be driving his horde at a pace that would have caused any other troll to collapse long ago; a night ago the Gumm-Gumms had been at least two nights' travel away.

That, or his troops had arcane help, probably tied to the legendary enchanted blade that the warlord wielded.

"The pixies are already in place, but we don't have the numbers to defeat them, even if they are disoriented."

"The archers are ready?" she asked.

His frown deepened. "Yes, Chief, but you know they can't hit much."

"They believe that we can protect our village, and as their chief, I will stand with them, whether they succeed or fail."

He peered at her from beneath thick stony eyebrows, his eyes glimmering with concern. "Is that wise, Chief? Those fleeing need a leader."

"They also need time. If our village is to be overrun, the least we can do is protect them by stalling the en-"

A yell split the air, and she spun towards the source of the sound, followed the noise of splintering wood. She hefted her axe and ran towards the screams and breaking property. Trolls threw themselves out of her way as she cannoned through the streets. She caught flashes of their bewildered and worried faces in the flickering torchlight as she passed. Another scream echoed from her left; she cursed and bolted in that direction, rounding the corner. A ring of petrified onlookers watched the scene from extreme distance, hiding in the shadows of buildings. She charged through them and beheld the commotion.

A massive amorphous mud figure with troll-like proportions stood within the shattered remains of Angor's hut, swinging one of her guards by the legs as if he weighed no more than a branch. The guard had his sword out and swiped futilely at the creature with all the force he could muster. The creature was shaking him so hard that his face was a blur, his cries for help escalating and dipping in pitch based on his rapidly-changing elevation.

The counterspell formed on her tongue before she could even fully register all the details, waves of blue-white magic crackling off her like an aurora. The mud creature instantaneously collapsed, and the guard fell with a thick _splat_ into the collapsing effigy. She gasped, the use of such powerful magic leaving her winded. She took a moment to catch her breath, then moved towards the remains of the battle, where the mud-covered troll was struggling to get up. She made her wat across the mud-slick ground and helped him up.

"What _was_ that thing?" he asked, wiping mud off himself.

"Golem," she explained. "Did you find anything?"

"No, ma'am. I was attacked before I could. By that _thing_."

She looked around at the ruined dwell; everything was obscured with at least an inch of half-liquid dirt. The books, or what she assumed were books on the partially-buried table, were totally unreadable. Bits of candles and furniture stuck out from beneath the swamp that had parked itself in what used to be the kitchen of the dwell, but if there were any clues here, they'd be totally mired. It would take time to excavate anything of utility, time they did not have.

She turned to the center of the dissolving mud mountain and kicked it apart, her clothes-sullying search turning up a little stone figurine about the size of her hand, as she expected. She picked the item up and squeezed it until it snapped into two jagged pieces.

"You," she pointed to the filthy guard. "With me."

The guard followed her as she made her way quickly back towards her dwell, picking up a crowd of stragglers, their tongues stony catapults that lobbed questions at her. She hid from the verbal projectiles behind her own silence, her brain furiously churning, trying to come up with any possible solutions to the now-unavoidable problem in her peoples' midst. Hang Gunmar; if her so-called "guest" had hidden many more of those golems, then Gunmar wouldn't find anything left to ransack. Spirits only knew how many more other traps, arcane or otherwise, the hunter had set in place.

She stepped into her dwell, heedless of the mud she tracked everywhere, beckoned her guard inside, and barred the door.

"What do you need me to do, Chief?" He asked without preamble.

She rubbed a muddy hand across her forehead, completely at a loss for answers. While the golemn encounter certainly proved Angor's disregard for the safety of other trolls, it hardly proved that he was studying dark magic; _animus_ totems fell far more into the realm of natural magic than evil arcane. Throwing false accusations would incite a panic among the worried population and anger the already foul-tempered sorcerer. And if there was a worry she did not need, it was an enraged magician threatening her people and further dividing her devoted but admittedly meager warriors.

"Make sure the other watch-trolls know what happened, but don't publicize it. The last thing we need is a panic. "

"And you, ma'am?"

"I have work to do," she told him, stepping over to the bookshelves and beginning to pull counterspell books off the shelves. A magic ward would be essential to winning the coming fight if there was to be one, but she only had time to cast a ward on one individual, and none of her warriors, however dedicated or skilled, had a hope of defeating Angor based on his abilities.

The candles slowly consumed themselves as she muttered spells as fast as possible, the books piling higher and higher around her. The door slammed open, and she whirled in alarm, knocking one of the precarious towers to the floor. Kaius stood behind her, his face grim, and she strode past him without a word, searching the murmuring crowd that had gathered around her door for the pale stranger. She spotted him, her gaze drawn to the book he was holding. She recognized the rune-marked cover. Certainty followed by abject fury washed through her.

"You!"

The crowd's collective gaze turned first to her, then to Angor, who looked up, dropped his book, and grabbed his dagger, his eyes narrowing.

"Gunmar is here because of _you!_ "

Questions and accusations and confused demands burst from the gathered trolls, cut of suddenly by three distant, nearly percussive blasts of a horn, suddenly cut off. Fear seized her; she knew that signal, though ithad never been used before.

The village was under attack.

 **A/N: MAN it feels good to be back! I've been stuck in this chapter for far too long.  
** **Apologies to the people who have had problems viewing new chapters. FFN is doing very strange things with the formatting and I can't make it work the way I want to without multiple submissions. I am very technologically inept, so if you have some suggestion to fix this, I'm all ears and would be very grateful.**

 **Anyway.**

 **I'm estimating the final showdown to go, and then we'll finally be able to get out of this Podunk and onto more interesting matters.**

 **Major feels incoming.**


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